


Save Him

by Desdimonda



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, F/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy tries to save Genji from an enemy he doesn't notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She Did

He hadn’t noticed the Talon operative at his right.

But Mercy, had.

His rifle was poised, ready to fire. She watched him click off the safety. She watched him steady his hands.

The cry of Genji’s target rang through the air, muted by the gurgle of blood as his sword sliced his neck, the splay of blood cascading like a fan. 

Mercy ran. She ran fast, her feet pounding against the concrete floor and then with a jump, her eyes fixed on Genji, the wings of her Valkyrie extended, the orange glow shrouding her body as she soared through the air, only one thing on her mind.

 _Save him_.

The operative raised his rifle, held the sight to his eye, and pulled the trigger.

Mercy heard the whisper of her name just as she reached him; just as the bullet hit her; just as it sank into her chest, inches from her heart.

A second caught her hand. Then a third hit her chest. 

The light of her wings, extinguished, and her limbs, sagged, as she fell to the ground at his feet. The pain was blinding, and the blood began to pour from the wound, staining the crisp white of her suit. 

But it didn’t matter.

 _I saved him. I saved him_.

She looked up. The operative was gone.

An arm wound around her back, pulling her from the rigid, concrete floor.

A hand pressed to her chest, holding the remnants of is shredded ribbon, stemming the flow of blood.

A voice spoke her name, over, and over.

“You didn’t see him,” she whispered, reaching out to touch an exposed fray of wires at his chest. “You’re hurt.”

Genji shook his head, the green of his visor shining erratically as a hiss of steam escaped from his shoulders. “I can wait - you - don’t move.” He continued to press against the wound with his torn ribbon, trying hard to stem the blood. But it wouldn’t stop.

 _It wouldn’t stop_.

“Angela,” he said, his voice broken, searching her face, oddly, serene. “Tell me what to do - _what do I do?_ ”

“Keep the pressure,” she said, her good hand on his arm, tightening. “And - and let me see your face.”

Genji paused. “What? Angela - you’re-”

She rasped a sharp breath, a fresh wave of blood soaking the ribbon. It was sodden, blackened with blood. 

It wasn’t enough.

Footsteps approached, then with a whoosh, Tracer was knelt by Mercy’s side, throwing off her coat. Her eyes fixated on the blood; the blood that covered her chest; the ribbon; Genji’s hand. A hand that trembled.

“Shit.” She tore the lower half of her top off, pushing the ragged cloth under Genji’s hand. “I’ll get help - I’ll call in the others. Talon’s pissed off. We’re done.”

Genji turned his head sharply towards Tracer. “ _Go_ ,” he demanded, hearing another rattling breath escape her lips.

“Genji,” she whispered, her words, fading. “Let me see you. You were always - always the last thing I-”

His grip around the bloodied cloth tightened as a gasp of steam escaped his shoulders once again.

“This won’t be the last time.”

She trailed a hand along his arm, gliding over his shoulder, shrouded in the haze of steam, and sought the latch behind his head.

“I can’t do it with one hand,” she said, trying a smile through a clench of pain.

Genji lifted his other hand, the tips of his fingers stained red, and as he felt Mercy un-clip the latch, he did the same. He dropped the faceplate to the floor, the bitter clang of metal to concrete harsh in the air.

And she, smiled.

“Everyday, for months, I looked at that face, hoping against all hope you wouldn’t hate me for what you had become,” she said, each word becoming quieter, laboured with her fading breaths. “I never believed - believed -”

He dipped his head, and pulled her hand to his lips, a tear staining her gloves.

“ _Tell me what to do_. Tell me how to save you; how to give you a body like mine,” he said; he pleaded, leaning closer, searching her waning eyes. 

At that, she breathed a laugh. “Oh, Genji,” she said, thumbing away a falling tear. “The UN took away my notes; my technology. They would never sanction-”

“Fuck them. I will tear down their walls. I will destroy them all. I will - I-”

He faltered as her fingers glided over his face, feeling the bridge of his nose; the deep, scars that twisted the skin; the edge where flesh became metal; the thick, eyebrows that she stroked when she thought he was asleep.

Would this be the last time she would?

Would this be, _the last time_?

“I will save you, like you saved me.”

Her hand slipped. Genji caught it, watching the light from her eyes begin to fade.

“You never hated me,” she said, searching his brown eyes, wet with tears. “I was so sure you would.”

“How could I hate you?” he whispered. “You gave me life.”

She gasped, her fingers coiling around his hand. “A life, confined to a shell, honed to a weapon. A life - a life you didn’t ask for.” She blinked away a fall of tears. “They saw you as a weapon, not as a living being.”

“But you didn’t,” he said, noticing the blood pool now at his knees. “You saw me as....me.”

“You were always Genji to me,” she said, the words fading, fading away. “You were always...the man I loved.”

Her eyes, closed.


	2. Save Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They rush to rescue Mercy, and encounter an unexpected friend.

But she still, breathed. **  
**

She slipped in and out of consciousness, a whisper passing by her faded lips, the colour, gone. The grip on his hand was barely more than a glance; the touch of her fingers, like air. The rags beneath his hand were sodden, darkened red with her blood. Blood that would not stop. She lay in his arms now, her limp body, hanging by a thread; a thread that frayed with each second that passed as they flew across London in the helicopter, the shimmer of the city, a blur.

Everything was a blur. Tracer opposite, her encouraging words of support becoming incoherent noise. Winston, up-front with the pilot, peering around at frequent intervals, was a blur.

All Genji could see was her. All he could feel, was her. Life slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand. The more he tried to catch them, the faster they fell.

But she still, breathed.

The helicopter began it’s descent, Tracer leaning her head out the open side, watching the small group of people awaiting their arrival. Winston had called ahead - or rather - called in almost a life’s worth of favours for this. They were all still wanted, hunted and that was before they broke the Petras Act.

“You sure we can trust them?” called Tracer as she turned to Winston,  the ragged edge of her shirt waving from the wind.

“They’re Angela’s friends,” he called back just as the helicopter touched ground, the whir of it’s blades beginning to quiet. “She worked here.”

Genji barely heard the words as he reaffirmed his grip around her and stepped off the helicopter, greeted by wide, eyed stares. One of the nurses stepped back.

“Judge me later,” he hissed as two of the doctors brought forth a stretcher. “I’ll carry her myself.”

“Genji-”

“ _I’ll carry her myself,_ ” he said as he jogged past the doctors towards the roof’s exit.

One of the doctors fell into Genji’s step, almost having to run to keep up with his stride. “How much blood has she lost?”

“I don’t - I don’t know. Two pints? Three?” he said, watching her blood drip from his arm.

The doctor nodded as they walked, his eyes staring at her punctured chest. “Class III hemorrhage; possibly IV,” he muttered, his wide eyes, concerned. “Three slugs?”

One. Two. Three. The image of her wings, fading; of her body, falling, as each bullet broke her skin, made him falter. And at the foot of the steps he paused.

“Where am I going?” he asked, words, desperate.

The doctor said nothing, and just urged Genji to follow through the doors. Footsteps echoed behind them. Tracer. Winston. The nurses. The doctors. Genji followed him through the hospital, past faces, mouths wide with shock; past bodies that stood still to watch; voices that stopped as they took in the scene.

But Genji noticed none of them. Genji cared about none of them.

Except her.

“On the bed.”

Genji reached the bed and as he made to set her down, he stopped. He stared at her. The parted, pale lips. The long eyelashes that tipped closed lids. The shock of hair, so close to white, stuck to her cheek. He curled fingers into her body, giving her a last touch, a last embrace, before, before -

No. It wouldn’t be the last, _because she still breathed_.

“Genji!” shouted Tracer, by the doctor’s side. “Get it together and put her down!”

And he did.

The blood stained the bed. It fell to the floor, dripping from his hands as the rags, dropped.

“Rose, Sehmi - you got the blood packs ready?” said the doctor that had walked with Genji. “And you, out. Both of you.” He looked between Genji and Tracer, who was shoved aside by a nurse.

“I’m not leaving,” said Genji as he stared, watching them as they begun to remove her suit, piece by piece.

“I don’t care who you are,” he said as he scrubbed his hands and arms at the sink. “But you’re getting out of here while we save her life.”

“But I - I was meant to save her,” he said, his words falling away as the blood drip, dripped from his hands.

The doctor sighed as he turned. “I know what she did for you, Genji. Now let us do what we can for her.”

The last thing he saw was them drop her wings to the floor, the sound bitter, in the air.

——————————

One hour he had spent washing off the blood, watching the water turn red as it cascaded over the metal, the synthetic muscle and wires.

One hour twelve minutes he had sat, stood, sat, stood, trying to occupy his mind, his fingers, as he waited for news. Winston was gone, said he had some business to take care off. Tracer slept, her quiet snores fading into background noise.

Two hours forty three minutes he had spent pacing. His silent steps tracing a line through the waiting room where Tracer still slept, her legs hanging over the edge of a chair.

“Genji?”

He turned at once, the world falling to silence for a breath, for that moment as he looked at Winston.

Was she -

“She’s still in surgery - but - it’s looking hopeful,” he said, stepping aside as someone approached from behind.

“Thank you, Winston,” he said, the words, broken. He watched as he stepped aside, paving way for -

“ _Hanzo_.”

The hiss of his hydraulics echoed after his words as Genji took a step, and then another, the steam escaping the vents at his shoulders as he gazed at his brother.

“What do you want?” he said, simply, the glow of his visor shifting to a dark green.

“To help,” he said, glancing between Winston and Genji. Winston nodded before backing away and nudging Tracer awake. She swore, startled, and then swore again as she noticed Hanzo. But soon followed Winston from the room, her lazy steps dragging over the floor.

“To help what? Finish the job?” he said, expelling another wave of steam from his shoulders, the metal rings twisting with a hiss.

Hanzo curled a hand to a fist. “I have no quarrel with Dr Ziegler-”

“But you do with _me_.”

Hanzo stepped forward. Genji echoed. “Do you think me void of honour, that I would hurt her?” he said, searching his face, watching the green of his visor flicker.

_You murdered me._

Genji stared, silent, for a long while, searching his brother’s face. A face he had watched from afar; a face he had seen up close so few times since he was ~~betrayed~~ human. He had forgiven, but he would never, forget. At last, he spoke, another coil of steam winding around his head.

“Say your piece.”

Hanzo bristled, but he began. “I can offer safety - for Angela-”

“Dr Ziegler to you,” hissed Genji.

“For Dr Ziegler - for all of you,” he said. “You know you won’t be safe here for long, Genji.”

As Genji listened, he tried to still his heart; the heart that still beat beneath the metal and mass of wires. For beneath it all, he was still, human.

“We can move her to somewhere more secure. I have money-”

Genji took a step forward, his visor flashing, bright. “I don’t want father’s money. Nor yours.”

Hanzo swore. “Push aside your fucking pride, brother, and let me help the woman you love.”

_The woman you love._

_The woman I love._

“Why?”

Hanzo walked forward, closing the gap between them and set a hand on Genji’s shoulder, a whisp of steam slipping through his fingers. “You told me, a while ago, to pick a side,” he said, looking up at Genji. “And I want my brother back.”

At his words, Genji let slip a sigh, his eyes closing shut, the glow of his visor echoing the motion to fade to almost, nothing.

“I’m doing this for her,” he said, the half truth shook with emotion. “Not you.”


	3. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji has some company as he waits to hear about Angela's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't much action in this chapter - sorry. I wanted to introduce some of the other characters and their relationships/dynamics. I hope you enjoy. <3

“Where is she?” boomed a familiar voice, rough with age and exhaustion. Reinhardt stepped inside the waiting room, uncaring of who heard nor who saw his imposing figure, clad in black casuals. He’d had the sense to shed his armour and all trace of Overwatch before arrival. As it seemed had Hana as she shuffled in at his side, her eyes wide with worry as they silently asked Reinhardt’s question, too.

“ _Where is she?_ ” he repeated as the waiting room door swung shut and Genji ceased his pacing, Hanzo shuffling to his feet from his hunched over position on one of the rigid chairs.

“Still in surgery,” said Genji as he approached Reinhardt and tilted back his head to his old friend, the heavy set of his brow wrinkled - taut with worry.

“Ah, Genji,” he said, as he reached out an arm and embraced him, a long, sigh passing his lips before he spoke. “She couldn’t have been in better hands than with you.” As he spoke, Reinhardt patted Genji’s back with a firm hand, unsettling Genji’s stance as he braced against Reinhardt’s strength. But Genji just, smiled. He appreciated the company, the words. He appreciated his friendship.

Hana rustled past Reinhardt and sat by Hanzo, silent, her face paled. She pulled her knees to her chest and watched them talk. Hanzo gave her what he thought was a reassuring smile, but her frown and confused gaze in reply made him think it was otherwise.

Genji lifted a hand, emphasising his words. “I failed her - I wasn’t quick-”

“Do not make me put you in a hospital bed too, my friend!” said Reinhardt, clasping Genji’s shoulder as he interrupted his words. “Do not sit and beat yourself up about what could have been while she is fighting for her life.”

Genji turned away, the green of his visor fading at Reinhardt’s words, and he just nodded. “I know you are right, but what if she doesn’t pull through this,” he said, turning back to face his friend.

“Out of everyone in this room, Angela is the one who will survive something like this. Believe in her; _trust_ her. How long have you known us - her?” Reinhardt pushed aside a slew of magazines atop the table and sat down. The thin legs creaked beneath his weight, but he didn’t even notice and just crossed his arms before his broad chest as he talked. Reinhardt cast a wary glance to Hanzo who was sat quietly in a rigid chair, his hands clasped neatly before his lips. “Ten years?”

Genji sank into a chair opposite, the coil of his ribbon falling onto this back. “Something like that,” he said.

“Ah, I remember when you first woke up. You trusted no-one but her,” said Reinhardt, his laughter staggering his words. “And even then, you trusted her so little! You were so stubborn.”

“Still are,” said Hanzo from the side.

Hana smirked. “You’re one to talk mister I’m so rigid I literally can’t bend over.”

At that, Reinhardt laughed loudly, heartily, clapping his chest with a hand. “I’ll need to tell McCree that one!”

Hanzo sneered, crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair, his fingers twitching, eager to reach for the sake that hung at his hip. _Not here_ , he echoed in his head.

Hana snorted a laugh; Genji just looked from his brother to Reinhardt, a small smile hidden beneath his visor. Reinhardt’s laugh alone was enough to make him remember a smile.

“She was so patient with me - you all were,” began Genji, dipping his head as he spoke, his visor reacting to his words, the green hue lighting the slide of his arms, his knees, the dull, worn floor of the waiting room that had seen a thousand steps, heard many unsaid words, felt the fall of countless shed tears. Would they feel his, tonight? “When I woke up, she was there for me when I thought no-one else was.”

“And she’ll need you when she wakes up,” said Reinhardt, leaning forward on his elbows as he spoke, not letting Genji look away. He could not see his eyes, but he watched the green of his visor brighten.

“If-”

Reinhardt held up a hand. “ _When_.”

Genji, nodded.

“I’m going to find myself the biggest cup of coffee in this place. Look after Hana, will you?” said Reinhardt as he stood from the table, it’s legs scraping against the floor, sighing from the loss of his bulk.

Hana scoffed, not glancing up from her phone, it’s white glow lighting up her face, partially hidden by her overgrown fringe. “I’m not a kid, gramps,” she said, taking a handful of smarties from a pouch at her side.

“Hanzo is old enough to be your father!” called Reinhardt as he pushed open the door, it’s hinges, creaking.

“Eww,” she said, staring at Hanzo at her side as he held out the pouch of smarties towards him. He stared at it for a moment, then back to her. “Smarties. Sweets. Chocolate. Or do they not have these in Honour Land?”

Hanzo took a handful and sat back against the chair.

Genji watched them both, unable to hide the small laugh at Hana’s words and his brother’s scowl. “Angela will be glad to see you, Hana,” he said, watching her tap rapidly on the touchscreen of her phone, it’s charms dangling from the side.

“I know. I missed her.” She paused and glanced up from her phone. “I missed you too.”

\-----------------

Reinhardt returned with two vending machine coffees and a Tracer, her eyes bleary, her hair, askew. She clung to his large arm with her small hands, feet dragging behind slowly, a contrast to her usual, boundless self.

“How many of us are there here?” said Hanzo, leaning forward on his elbows and pressing his fingers to a peak as he stared ahead. “We are sitting targets.”

“I have the perimeter covered - snipers on the roof and your helicopter is ready to leave the minute she is stable,” said Reinhardt as he sat back down on the table, the magazines still pushed aside. He set one of the coffees by his thigh and began to drink the other. “Eurgh. Tar. Just what I needed.”

Tracer sank into the seat by Hana, who was still engrossed in the game on her phone, tapping furiously with her thumbs, the charms dangling pleasantly from the corner of her phone. Hanzo was standing by the window, peering through a gap in the blinds, his brow, creased, as he stared at the fading night, falling away to the first fingers of light. They needed to leave.

Genji stared at his fingers, stretching the metal, watching the way the joints moved, listening to the hiss of metal as he curled each finger, one by one, into a fist. He remembered the way Angela chewed the sides of her fingers when she was anxious, when she was tired, often so much that she drew thin lines of blood. Genji tried to help her stop; holding her hand; rubbing her sore fingers with his; kissing the tips with his lips - one flesh, one cybernetic; or just distracting her with a joke, an anecdote, or a kiss to the neck.

He couldn’t bite his fingers. He had no nails to chew. More than once, on instinct, he had tried. But his teeth had just grated on metal, on parts of his synthetic muscle. Just another reminder of what he had become.

He could laugh about it now - he and Angela had, several times. Genji cooked for her sometimes and one time had spilled some pasta sauce on his hand, and on instinct, he had licked it off, only to meet a bitter tang of metal against his tongue mixed with the tomato. One night when they were marathoning a boxset, tucked beneath a blanket, he had went to idly chew the side of his thumb, only to find no skin to chew. Angela had laughed so hard and long they had to restart the episode.

Would he hear that laughter again?

“Where are we taking her?” said Reinhardt, his gruff voice pulling Genji from his memory.

“I-” he began, but quickly realised he did not know. Genji turned to Hanzo who was still stood by the window, watching the gentle rise of the sun, it’s orange hue bathing his skin.

“Jesse has some old friends in New York who can help us keep her protected in a private hospital there,” said Hanzo, not looking away from the window.

“Old friends?” said Reinhardt before he emptied his first cup of coffee, setting down the paper cup. “You mean ex-Deadlock?” His words were low, monotone, and he didn’t look at Hanzo as he spoke, instead he emptied three packets of sugar into the second coffee and stirred, rhythmically.

“What of it?” said Hanzo. “Jesse’s ex-Deadlock.”

“And I trust _him_ with my life.”

“Then trust his judgement,” said Hanzo, finally turning from the window, the sunlight shrouding him in a haze as his ribbon settled on his shoulder, the tipped edge grazing over his bared skin.

Reinhardt sighed and nodded. “You are right. I do. I am tired - weary, wary, worried.” He took another sip of his coffee. “I have lost many to this war - I have outlived many friends, comrades and family. I do not want to outlive another.”

Hanzo dipped his head, his eyes resting on Genji. “I would say I understand - but I have no right to.”

Genji said, nothing.

The door of the waiting room opened. Genji stood at once as he faced the surgeon he had left behind, hours ago.

And for a tense, solitary moment, he believed the worst. The surgeon caught Genji’s gaze - or what he thought was his gaze - as he stared at the green slit of his visor, flickering, reacting to the tremor of his emotions as he awaited to hear if Angela was dead, or alive.

And then, the surgeon smiled.

“She’s alive. She’s stable and ready to go,” he said, looking at each of them as one by one they stood from their seats and approached him, their eyes wide, their breaths, held. “I heard you’re not staying long.”

“It isn’t safe,” said Hanzo as he reached Genji’s side.

“Is it safe anywhere?” said the surgeon as he looked at Genji as he approached.

“I want to see her. I want to-”

“She isn’t awake, Genj,” he said, gently, placing a hand on his arm, watching a hiss of steam escape the vents at his shoulders. “But...you can see her.”

Hanzo touched Genji’s other arm. He shrugged it off on instinct and stepped away.

“Genji, we need to get her out as soon as possible. They probably already know we’re here.”

“No doubt,” said the surgeon. “I’m coming with you to the states. She...she needs me.”

“Why? What’s wrong? What happened?” demanded Genji.

The surgeon paused and stared at his hand that rested on Genji’s cybernetic arm. “I think it’s best you see.”


End file.
